Renfield Wasn't Crazy
by Ergott
Summary: University student Seras Victoria is given the daunting task of writing a critical essay on Dracula. She quickly runs into trouble, but soon receives some help from an interesting passerby. Chapter four is a revised version of one through three.
1. The UnWritable Essay

**Renfield Wasn't Crazy**

**Rating**: M, mostly for language—Seras swears more than any character I've written.

**Summary**: University student, Seras Victoria, is given the daunting task of writing a critical essay on Dracula. She quickly runs into trouble while trying to explain the characters in detail, but soon receives some help from an interesting passerby.

**Quick Note**: Let it be said, right from the get-go, that this story is mostly AU. Hellsing exists in the same way as it did in the anime/manga. What's AU are the circumstances of Seras' life and how Hellsing comes across her. In this story Seras is a university student writing an essay for her gothic literature class, rather than a police girl. I'm not entirely certain where this story will end up, but I have a good idea. If you have never read Dracula or seen one of the many movies, then parts of this might be a tad confusing to you, as I am going to be working with the characters and events of the original novel.

To many of you, this will look familiar. After many years, I've decided to do a little more work on this story, so I've taken the first few chapters, edited them, and made a few changes. I would recommend re-reading for two reasons: one, it's been a long time for all of us, and two, I've made a couple of important changes that are going to change the flow of this story.

If you're wondering why I'm suddenly showing interest in what seemed to be a long-abandoned story, here's your answer: This all came about because I've been on something of a Dracula kick lately, so hopefully I'll be able to put up a few new chapters before the mood fades.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Hellsing belongs to Kohta Hirano, and Dracula belongs to Bram Stoker. A few of the sections in italics were taken from the Dracula Sparknotes, but I tried to keep that to a minimum, since Sparknotes can make anything seem spectacularly boring.

* * *

Chapter One: The Un-Writable Essay.

"Damn it!" Seras Victoria usually considered herself to be a mild-tempered sort of woman. "Bloody hell!" But she was just having one of _those _days where nothing ever seemed to go right. "Fuck, why is this so hard?" Her problem at the moment was a 20-page in-depth character analysis for her Gothic Literature class, which she had less than a week left to write. She had known about the paper for some time now, but had procrastinated on the grounds that it was centered on Dracula, a novel that she knew inside and out. When the time had come to sit down and write she had come up with nothing but a horrible blank. And it certainly didn't help matters that Seras shared an apartment with two classmates who were extremely fond of loud music and throwing wild parties at the most inappropriate times.

Her concentration suffered greatly.

"All right… maybe I should try writing an outline first, since I'm having so much trouble," Seras mused to herself, unconsciously glaring her baby blue eyes in the direction of her living room, from which some sort of heavy death metal music seemed to be blaring. 'I wouldn't be having so much trouble if Pip and Harry could just keep quiet for one miserable evening!' she thought to herself.

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she began to write down a list of the main characters. _Count Dracula_, _Professor Abraham Van Helsing_, _Mina Murray_, _Lucy Westenra_, _Renfield_, _Jonathan Harker_,_ Doctor John Seward_,_ Arthur Holmwood_, _and Quincey Morris._

A terrible noise began to assault Seras, breaking through the haze of concentration that had briefly surrounded her. Someone was drunkenly warbling a very incoherent sort of song, while a bass-line thumped crazily about the apartment, shaking small things off the end tables.

"Now," Seras commanded herself loudly, "I'll start with some basic information on a few of the characters."

_Jonathan Harker:__ A solicitor from England. The first character we meet, and our first narrator as he speaks to the reader through his journal. He's traveling to Transylvania to give over English land deeds to Count Dracula._

Something, which sounded suspiciously like a glass vase, crashed to the floor in the next room over. Seras heard the door slamming open and closed, and assumed that more people were now over.

_Doctor John Seward:_ _A doctor in charge of an insane asylum. He is also one of Lucy's suitors. He is the one who telegrams Van Helsing when Lucy takes "ill"._

Somewhere, most likely the kitchen, a smoke detector went off, and if Seras looked hard enough she could almost see some sort of gray vapor spilling in from under the door. At that moment a phone rang, undoubtedly one of the neighbors calling to complain about the noise.

_Arthur Holmwood:_ _Lucy's fiancé and a friend of her other suitors. Arthur is the son of Lord Godalming and inherits that title upon his father's death. In the course of his fight against Dracula's dark powers, Arthur does whatever circumstances demand: he is the first to offer Lucy a blood transfusion, and he agrees to kill her demonic form._

Something that sounded like, "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!" reached her ears.

_Quincey Morris:_ _A plainspoken American from Texas, and another of Lucy's suitors. Quincey ultimately sacrifices his life in order to rid the world of Dracula._

Seras' apartment was of the comfortable variety, which was amazing considering how little money she had. The apartment was clean, spacious, the rent was cheap, the water pressure was good, the stove worked, and…

…The walls were closing in.

It was just too bright, too loud, and not at all conducive to writing a paper.

"I can't concentrate here!" Seras finally howled in frustration. Quickly she packed up her laptop, grabbed a coat, and headed out. Leaving the apartment wasn't easy in the least; the throng of people in her living room had been larger than she had anticipated and for some reason they all seemed intent on blocking the front door. After getting tossed about for a while, she managed to make it out into the fresh night air.

'Now,' Seras thought, 'where should I go? I need somewhere quiet and relatively deserted…'

* * *

The city was a modern jungle. Buildings rose up like metal trees while people bustled about, taking in the smell of urban living, and the sound of millions of voices all talking at the same time. The air was thin and smelled faintly of oil and greasy foods. Shops littered every corner with brightly lit displays proclaiming amazing discounts. The general area was filled with the din of music, shouts, laughter, and crys. Pavement, covered in grime and cracks, stretched out as far as the eye could see. And over this nighttime setting, streetlamps cast an eerie orange glow. London was a busy city.

For the most part.

The oldest city park was filled with ancient oak, beach, and pine trees. Between the trees were dirt and gravel paths that wove themselves intricately throughout the green district. On the sides of the paths were iron benches of the beautiful, but extremely uncomfortable, variety. Sitting on one of these benches were the only four inhabitants of the park: a laptop, a cup of hazelnut coffee, a battered copy of Dracula, and a girl. The girl was around twenty, willowy, pale, blonde haired, and blue eyed.

And frustrated. So very, very frustrated.

Seras Victoria had gotten about as far as, "_The novel Dracula, by Bram Stoker, is filled with interesting and highly symbolic characters…_" when she promptly ran out of ideas. Well, that wasn't _entirely_ correct. To be fair, she had plenty of ideas, she just didn't know how to go about writing them down. This was always where school had been hardest for Seras; she could talk about things, discuss them at length, but she could _never_ seem to write them down. She took a sip of her coffee, briefly toying with the idea of getting someone to transcribe a conversation between her and a classmate, but decided that Professor Vrel wouldn't appreciate that. "I am so fucked," she laughed humorlessly.

The fine hair at the back of her neck rose, sending a chill down her spine, and it was then the she realized she suddenly wasn't alone anymore.

The man walking up the path was tall, probably somewhere around six feet or so, and lean. He was pale, with black hair, and appeared to be wearing a charcoal colored suit with a startlingly red trench coat. And sunglasses. Seras couldn't even begin to guess as to why a man would wear sunglasses at night, especially in the green district where there was no lighting at all. The gravel crunched under his booted feet as she continued to stare at him; she didn't mean to stare, she just couldn't seem to take her eyes away. As he drew closer she tried to guess his general age, but found, to her astonishment, that she couldn't. There was something about his angular features that defied time—twenties seemed too young, and thirties seemed too old. His face was simply ageless. Overall, he struck an imposing figure; the man was over twenty feet away and yet she still felt mildly threatened by his presence.

Seras was a quiet sort of girl; she never took risks, or went on adventures. She lived her life vicariously through books. That wasn't necessarily the way she liked things, but that was just the sort of person she was. As a result she often felt that she was somewhat socially awkward, which was exactly why she didn't say a word to the newcomer as he drew closer to her bench.

She let out a relieved breath when he drew level with her and still showed no signs of slowing his ground-eating stride. Her relief was short lived however, when he stopped just a few feet past her lonely vigil. He slowly turned his head to look at her, and Seras idly wondered what color his eyes would have to be to appear red from behind his oddly tinted glasses. 'Probably mahogany…' He seemed to study her for a moment, but she couldn't really tell since his expression never changed and it was hard to see his hidden eyes in the dark of the night.

"It's a bit late for young girls to out reading," he murmured. His voice was rich, dark, and firm, like satin and crushed velvet over a bar of steel.

Seras bristled; she might not have been able to place his age, but he couldn't be so much older than her that he could call her a young girl! "I'm _not_ reading," she snapped in annoyance, "I'm trying to write."

"Oh?" he asked, his voice caressing the question strangely. "What about?"

"It's really none of your business, sir." Seras began to panic when he turned around fully. If this man had seemed intimidating from twenty feet off, it was nothing compared to now. His six-foot frame towered over her sitting one—and was it just her, or did it seem darker right where he was standing than anywhere else in the park?

"There's no need to be so brusque, I'm merely curious," he seemed to smirk, but Seras was suddenly having a hard time getting any sort of definite grasp on his features.

"Dracula," she answered curtly. "It's for my English class." He wasn't doing anything but talking to her, he wasn't even standing particularly close, but she still felt uneasy. Discreetly, she started to gather her things together.

A wind picked up from absolutely nowhere. "How very droll," his dark voice replied—and only his voice.

Seras blinked uncertainly. _He was gone!_ He had utterly and completely vanished, and yet somehow she had heard him speak as if he had still been standing there. She scanned the surrounding trees, and then eyed her coffee suspiciously. Here she was, just trying to get a decent grade in school, and her body had the audacity to create a caffeine-induced hallucination on her!

Still…

Seras grabbed her belongings, threw away her coffee, and headed back into the city, intent on finding another place to write.

…Just incase the caffeine-fueled hallucination decided to come back to the park.

* * *

Twenty minutes later found Seras still looking for somewhere to settle down. She was starting to wish she hadn't left the silence of the countryside to go to school. 'Maybe Pip and Harry have moved their party to somewhere else by now,' she mused wistfully, but she knew better. No matter how loud it got, no matter how much the neighbors complained, the parties were never over until after two in the morning, at the very least. 'Well, it's just ten now,' she thought to herself, 'I've got at least four hours until my apartment is silent.' The streets were crowded for a Wednesday night but then, what else could one expect from London?

She knew she was probably being paranoid, but every couple of blocks she felt as though she were being followed. However when Seras looked around there was never anyone who seemed overly suspicious near her. At one point she had thought she saw a flash of red clothing ahead of her, but when she moved to get a better look her foot caught on the uneven pavement. By the time she had righted herself and looked back up the only person wearing red was some poor kid dressed as a lobster mascot.

Seras crossed her arms and pulled her jacket tighter against herself. The mysterious wind had not stopped since she left the park, and only seemed to be getting colder. Unconsciously she gripped her book bag tighter, and decided to stop at the first café or library that she came across. Preferably somewhere crowded where intimidating, possibly _not_ caffeine induced, hallucinations could not approach her.

What she found was Rimkus Corner, an underground poetry café with a sign that boasted it to be open from twelve in the afternoon to six in the morning. Seras descended the stairs and took a good look around. Rimkus was large and pentagonal, with a small stage near the back. The walls were an interesting combination of maple paneling and dark colored silks; the floor was littered with little wooden tables, bookshelves, and a few booths; the air was blessedly free of the clouds of smoke that she had expected; and the lights were dim, trying to lend an air of mystery which Seras thought was somewhat childish and bloody irresponsible of anyone who wanted to read for an extended period of time. All in all it was a nice place.

There was only one problem: including her and the guy sleeping behind the service counter there was a grand total of five people in the entire establishment. Still, it was the perfect place to write and—Seras could still vaguely feel the wind blowing down the stairwell—it was warm.

Feeling that the chances of the exchange in the park having been real, or that if it had been real, her chances of that man being interested in finding her again, were slim she decided to stay. She hesitated for a moment, then headed over to the counter to wake the boy up and get something to drink before going over to one of the cozy looking booths. 'Hopefully, here I'll be able to concentrate and, with any luck, finish this paper so that I won't have to worry about it for the rest of the week.' After retrieving a coffee from the sleepy-eyed boy, Seras quietly set up her computer while listening to the couple in the corner argue heatedly about Lovelace and Byron.

Two hours later she had succeeded in doing nothing but annoy the boy behind the counter by waking him up just a few too many times. 'I maintain it's not my fault that he's sleeping on the job,' Seras thought sourly when she noticed him glaring at her from his slumped and not-quite-sleeping position.

"It looks like you haven't gotten all that far into your writing since the last time that we crossed paths," someone said from the other side of her booth.

A shadow fell across Seras' computer screen. Slowly she raised her head up, her fears confirmed when she saw the man from the park, who she had begun to think of as Mr. Creepy, sitting opposite her. "When did you get here? Are you following me?" she demanded, extremely bothered by the notion that someone could be stalking her.

"I arrived here just before you did," he smiled, his tone easygoing. "So the question begs to be asked: are _you_ following _me_?" There was a definite smirk playing about his full lips, and it was just the tiniest bit infuriating.

Seras slapped herself mentally; how could she count there being five people in the café and not notice that he had been one of them? "No, sir, I am _not_ following you," she answered the man's rhetorical question, hoping that if she remained as curt as possible he would take his leave of her.

His smile—or smirk, it was very hard to tell which—widened. "Do I make nervous?" he asked in a tone which clearly stated he enjoyed her skittishness.

Did he make her nervous? Certainly, but why? Studying the man across from her, she really couldn't pick out any single thing about him that should have had her on edge. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn't see his eyes, something that always bothered her when she spoke to a person; or perhaps it was that his hair seemed a tad bit longer now then it had when she'd last seen him, grazing his shoulders when it had only looked to be down to his chin just a few scant hours ago. But then again it had been dark on that lonely path, so perhaps she was mistaken. It was almost as if the different features of his face, by themselves, were completely faultless, but put together they possessed some devilish quality that had warning bells going off in her head. That, taken in hand with the fact that he had simply _vanished_ from the park as he spoke to her, had Seras wary of the man before her. The less time spent in his presence the better.

"I'm not nervous," she lied through her teeth, "just busy."

He seemed to study her for a minute, then raised an eyebrow that she almost couldn't make out through his wild bangs. "You're lying."

Seras opened her mouth to protest, but he quickly cut her off.

"Now I'll grant that you probably _are_ busy," he gestured vaguely to her laptop, "but I refuse to believe that you aren't nervous."

She couldn't believe that someone would be so blunt as to say something like that to a complete stranger. "Whether I am or not is really none of your business. Now if you'll excuse me, sir, I really need to work on this paper."

"So quick to dismiss me, and yet still polite enough to refer to me as sir," he cocked his head to the side, his smirk softening somewhat.

Seras could feel a headache coming on. "Are you complaining that I'm being polite or that I'm trying to get rid of you?" she asked while rubbing her temples.

He shook his head noncommittally, acknowledging her question rather than answering it.

"Look, was there something you wanted? I have put off this essay for too long to get distracted now!" she snapped; she hadn't meant to, but the night had been less than productive and her temper was starting to wear thin.

"_I'm_ a distraction?" he asked, humor clear in his dark voice. "For two hours you've done nothing but harass that poor coffee-drone behind the counter and listen to those two in the corner argue about romantic poetry. It seems to me that you were distracted _long_ before I showed up." She had a feeling that had she been able to see his eyes they would have been gazing at her mockingly.

"What do you want?" Seras pleaded tiredly, thinking that for all the work she was getting done right now she might as well go home and try writing again in the morning.

He chuckled and spreading his hands in a placating manner. "I could help you if you would stop being so abrupt with me."

"Why?" The warning bells were going off again. A perfect stranger, whom she wanted absolutely nothing to do with, was offering her help? It seemed too unlikely to be harmless.

The man cocked his head to the other side now. "Partly because you strike me as the sort of person who has a hard time writing their thoughts down, but mostly because you seem to need it."

"Forgive my doubt," she replied in frozen politeness, "but why should I trust you when I have absolutely no idea who you are?"

"You said your paper was about Dracula," he answered, rolling the vampire's name over his tongue like a forgotten memory. The way he said Dracula was unique, as though his voice had grown suddenly heavy with an accent, but it seemed fitting somehow. "I happen to be an expert on that story."

She stared at him for a moment. "You're a professor?" she asked disbelievingly. He seemed sophisticated enough, but he certainly didn't strike her as a teacher, unless he was one of those incredibly eccentric professors that she had always heard about but never met.

"No, but an expert nonetheless," he stated with a mysterious smile. "It's been two hours, and I doubt you're any farther now than you were when we met in the park. The way I see it you have three choices: You can sit here questioning me and my motives all night, you can leave and try to write some other time, or you can take my help and make some progress on that assignment of yours," there was something in the way he said it, something in his voice, that really made her _hate_ the idea of trying to work later. His tone wasn't exactly coaxing, but it was persuasive all the same.

She shook her head absently, once more asking, "Who are you?" Seras tried to catch a glimpse of his eyes behind their glasses like she had at the park, but the orange lenses suddenly seemed completely impenetrable. She couldn't figure out why it was so crucial at that moment to see his eyes, but everything in her screamed that it was absolutely necessary; without it she would miss something important. Seras had never had so many gut-feelings in one day as she was having around this man in one evening; something about him was off, and in a big way. Suddenly, and unlike any other person Seras had met, he completely relaxed under her scrutiny, as if to encourage her perusal further.

"I'm just a lover of literature, like yourself I'm sure," he answered without really getting to the heart of the question.

Unnerved by his behavior and evasive answers, she fidgeted slightly in her seat. "Look," she breathed, trying to ignore the desperate note in her voice, "I _know_ I need the help, I won't deny that. But to be perfectly honest, I'm not comfortable with the idea of working with you," Seras replied, needing him to understand that she simply could not accept his offer.

"All right," he hummed, "we'll compromise then. I'll leave you alone for tonight _if_ you promise to give my offer some serious thought." He leaned forward, closer to her, eating up more than his fair share of space. "But if you find, after some time, that you really would appreciate my help, then meet me back here," he finished smoothly, clearly ignoring her earlier refusal.

"When?" she wondered aloud. "For how long are you offering this help of yours?"

Nothing about his expression changed, but it felt as if the very air around him held a heavy smugness—like, somehow, in the end, he _knew_ she was going to give in. "Indefinitely. I spend a good deal of my evenings around this area. If you come back I'll know."

If that was truly the case, then she never wanted to set foot in this part of the city again. "If that's the only way to get you to leave me alone, then fine, I'll consider it." Seras gathered her belongings together. "But I make no guarantees," she added while standing to leave.

He uncrossed his legs and turned to face her, the very picture of a gentleman intending to see her out. "I wouldn't dream of asking for more," he nearly purred.

She backed away from the booth a few steps, but when he made no attempts to stand and follow her she relaxed. "Don't hold your breath," Seras advised as she left the sleepy little building.

* * *

The apartment had not survived its latest party very well. The sofa was tipped on its back, torn paper and plastic cups littered the floor, and the kitchen looked as though it had been epicenter of World War III. Pip and Harry were nowhere in sight, telling Seras that the party had probably gotten too wild, so they had exercised what little consideration they had by taking it elsewhere. Not wanting the trash to be able to sit around perfuming the air, she knew she would have to clean, despite the fact that the only thing she really wanted after the night she'd had was a hot shower and a soft bed.

Seras had just put her book bag down on the now right-side-up couch when she heard something at the front door. Curiosity overruling her caution, she opened the beige portal. There, standing on her doormat, was a dog—a humongous, shaggy, black, red-eyed dog; it was most likely a stray. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened; she was a sucker for homeless animals and often let them stay from a while, or fed them at the very least. As a result, stray dogs and cats showed up quite frequently, as if some creature that had benefited from her in the past had told them about her. Seras eyed the canine carefully and, against her better judgment, stepped aside. "Come on in boy," she beckoned to the massive hound. He strode in confidently and with a grace she wouldn't have expected from a vagrant animal.

It was tricky dealing with strays sometimes; there was no way of knowing which ones were sick or dying, which ones were well behaved, or where any of them had come from. The dog before her was a conundrum: he was a stray but was well groomed, massive but graceful, black-furred but red-eyed. Perhaps he was some sort of rare breed that had gotten away from its master.

"You'll have to wait until I'm done cleaning if you want any food," Seras told the arrogant beast. "This place is a disaster." Here he gave her a look that she would have called 'sarcastic agreement' if it hadn't been coming from a dog. "It's not my fault," she tried reasoning with him, "my roommates are just rowdy boys!" She shook her head when he just continued to stare at her, and vaguely wondered why she was trying to rationalize the appearance of her home to a creature that probably couldn't understand a word that she was saying, let alone appreciate the cleanliness of her accommodations. "It's going to be a long night," she sighed to herself, moving toward the kitchen for some trash bags.

Seras had gotten home just past midnight. By the time she was finished cleaning it was nearly two in the morning. Exhausted, she sat on the sofa, idly rubbing the dog's wide forehead. Despite what she'd said, she had set out food and water for him halfway through her cleaning but he had yet to touch it. "And I _still_ have to work on that damn paper," she moaned pitiably to herself. The dog cracked one eye open, and gave her a look clearly suggesting that he would bite her arm off if she stopped petting him. "I _have_ to. If I don't, I'll fail the assignment, and it'll drag my whole grade down," she explained gently while standing up and looking for her book bag.

It took her a while to realize that the hound was lounging on top of it, lazily grooming his paws. However, when she tried to approach him for it, he bared his teeth, which all seemed freakishly sharp even for a dog, and let loose a guttural and horrifying sound that she could only assume was a growl. "What?" she snapped. "I took you into my home, I've given you food even if you haven't eaten it, and I was just petting you a minute ago! The least you could do in return is to get off my school work! If you can't be nice I can always through you out, you know," she threatened. He lifted his doggy brows at her, an almost human stubbornness shining in his eyes. "_Please_," Seras pleaded with the suddenly aggressive dog, "I really need to work!" He growled again, using his paws to pull the bag further under him. "Not even if I promise to pet you some more?" she raised her hand toward him, afraid to get too close in case he should decide to bite. The red eyes seemed to contemplate her offer for a moment, before covering the book bag more fully with his massive chest. The he leaned forward and nudged her hand, as if to encourage her attentions even if he had no intention to relinquish control over her current objective.

"Fine," Seras moaned, giving up. "I'm going to bed," she added on a sighed, feeling her exhaustion double at the prospect of wrestling with the beast over her laptop. Walking down the hallway she headed toward her bedroom. Behind her she could hear the clicking of nails on the tile, and briefly thought of rushing back to the couch for her computer, but soon heard a deep woof coming from somewhere behind her thighs, and thought better of it. Not bothering to turn the lights on, she quickly changed and climbed into bed. Next to her she felt the mattress dip, and something heavy settle against her side.

As she slowly drifted off to sleep, cursing strange men and dogs alike, she prayed that tomorrow would be a better day for writing.

* * *

A/N: Even though they are still quite similar, I decided to keep the first three original chapters up, for those who still want to read them. Because this revised version is comprised of those chapters, it's a bit longer than what I usually write. There were only a few changes here and there, but a lot of what is to come is going to be good deal more interesting (and different) from what I originally planned.

Please Review!


	2. The Missing Essay

Chapter Two: The Missing Paper.

Seras dreamt of disturbing things that night—of darkness and bloodshed, of guns and fangs, of a remote young woman and a centuries-old frustration—and the visions woke her frequently, a cold sweat making her even more uncomfortable. But nothing in her dreams, absolutely _nothing_, was as terrifying as the nightmare she had just before dawn.

_A figure in black raced toward her—she knew it had to be a man, despite the uncharacteristically long hair, because his shoulders were much too broad for a woman's. His steps were silent but sure, each one bringing him closer to his prey. Seras knew she was that prey, felt the knowledge burn through her just as surely as she felt her muscles burning in an effort to keep away from her hunter. But, in the true fashion of nightmares, no matter how far or fast she ran, the man still gained on her._

"_So young," he suddenly purred into her ear, his arms circling around her waist to jerk her back against his chest. "So sweet," he added, his tone turning dark. His fingers began to play along the length of her neck, tickling the sensitive skin as he caressed her throat. "Do you know what will make this worth remembering above all things?" he asked, his voice rubbing against her like velvet._

_She knew that voice, knew the unique cadence and the darkness that filled his words—it was the stranger from the park. Just the thought of _his_ formidable body wrapped around her own somehow made the situation so much more frightening than it had already been. This man put some sort of primal fear into her just by existing. _

_She began to struggle against him, jerking wildly in an effort to get away._

_The man merely chuckled, a sound that rumbled through his chest and came out sounding husky, like a lover's laugh. "It's been so long," he replied to his own question, tightening his hold on her. "But you'll be well worth it, won't you, Seras?"_

_Knowing she was trapped in a nightmare, she didn't bother to wonder how he knew her name._

"_You'll struggle at first," he continued, "but that's only natural. In the end, though, you'll enjoy it."_

_She flinched as a tendril of his dark hair fell over her shoulder. _

"_But I wonder," he mused, his words humming along the skin of her throat as he drew impossibly closer, "will you enjoy it enough to follow me?"_

_It was a strange question considering that she was expecting him to rape her. She had no delusions that she would enjoy it like he claimed. Grimly, she accepted her fate, only giving into the horrors that awaited her because she knew she was dreaming. "Do your worst," she told him coldly, "but I will not beg, one way or the other."_

_He laughed against her throat, his lips beginning to plant fleeting kisses against her skin. "So brave, even as you misunderstand me." He reached the juncture between her neck and shoulder, nuzzling the area as his arms tightened around her. "Are you trembling?"_

_She was—everything within her felt like it was shaking apart in fear. Seras jumped when he nipped at her, but remained staunchly silent; she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how terrified she was._

_There was a strange second of lull, a calm moment that seemed to stretch on for hours; in that suspended time of nothingness, she could almost believe she was safe. Then there was pain unlike she'd ever known, a great bolt of lightning that dug itself into her neck and exploded along all her senses, making her cry out despite her earlier vow._

_The freak was biting her! This was the damnedest nightmare she'd ever had._

_Another lull came and went and then, suddenly—heaven. The pain faded as soon as the man—_vampire?_—withdrew his teeth from the wound, and in short order he began to suckle at her torn flesh, drawing her blood into his mouth with zeal. It was the strangest thing she'd ever felt, his lips pulling at her, making her weak, and yet it was ecstasy. Something about the way his tongue lapped over her skin, how he moaned low in his throat as he drank from her, or the way he so completed surrounded her with his obvious strength had her shaking in pleasure. It was disturbing to be forced into such an innately weak and submissive position and yet, just as he'd promised, she was enjoying it. Fire raced along her veins, making her dizzy, hazing her mind. Distantly, she felt something at her lips, forcing her open for this new intrusion. _

_She awoke, screaming, when she recognized the taste of blood filling her mouth._

Seras gazed around her bedroom morosely, trying to shake the lingering pleasure and horror that her nightmare had inspired. Quietly, she raced to her bathroom, realizing that she could still taste blood on her tongue—she must have bitten herself while she was sleeping. After vigorously rinsing out her mouth, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at her was pale and shaken, her blue eyes were glassy, and the skin of her throat seemed red and irritated. She looked more like a sick woman than one who had suffered an intensely bizarre dream.

"No," she shook her head, ignoring the wave of dizziness that accompanied the gesture. "You're not going to speculate or drive yourself mad thinking about it," she commanded herself. "You've got more important things to do, like writing that paper." She tried to smile confidently, but the girl looking back at her from the mirror gave more of a sickly grimace in return.

* * *

The dog was gone, Seras noted some time later. It wasn't unusual, Pip and Harry did not share her love of animals and often shooed her strays out of the apartment. It was, however, unfortunate—she would have loved the company after the night she'd had. Another unfortunate problem she was having? She couldn't find her book bag. It simply wasn't on the couch, where both she and the dog had left it, and it wasn't anywhere else in the apartment that she could find.

Frustration swelled within her, making her blood race. It seemed as though nothing had gone as she'd wanted it to since early yesterday evening; it was absolutely infuriating. If she couldn't find her bag then she couldn't work on her essay; everything she needed was in the missing item: all her notes, her copy of Dracula, and her laptop. Without them, she simply couldn't do anything. What had happened to the blasted bag, anyway? It wasn't as though it could have vanished into thin air—it had to be somewhere. Perhaps Pip or Harry had accidentally grabbed her bag by mistake?

An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach as she thought of her roommates. Either they had both had very early mornings ahead of them—which was unusual after one of their riotous parties—or they had never come home last night. And if they'd never come home, how had the dog gotten out? Another detail was bothering her; she'd gotten back around midnight, and her roommates had not been there, despite the fact that their parties never ended before two in morning. They should have been there when she'd gotten back. It was almost as if Pip and Harry had gone the way of her book bag—hiding out in a misty either that she could not find.

With a helpless groan, Seras conceded that there was nothing she could do right now—she certainly couldn't work on her paper, and it would be paranoid of her to call the police before her roommates had been missing for longer, if they were missing at all. Staying in the apartment all day, alone with her worries and the memories of her nightmare would only drive her mad; she would have to go out. Usually that prospect would have lifted her spirits, she loved being outdoors and exploring new places, but today it only made her feel weary of the exertion she knew was ahead.

She left her home with the intention of going to a library, perhaps finding another copy of Dracula that she could work with, but she never made it that far. The moment Seras stepped outside, it became intensely apparent that something was wrong—the midday sun seemed too sharp for her eyes, and the colors and sounds of London leapt out at her, confusing her senses. Feeling off center and overwhelmed, she ducked into the closest building. The dimness of café was welcome, and it gave her a moment to breathe before she realized where she was.

Rimkus, the last place she'd seen the man from the park.

Memories of her nightmare flooded her mind, unstoppable and devastating. Suddenly shaking, Seras groped her way to a booth.

"You don't look so good today," a rich voice observed from the darkness.

She knew it was the man; somehow, before she'd even sat down, she'd known he was going to be there—but that didn't make it any easier to suppress her instinctive shriek. Heart pounding, she turned frightened eyes to the man. He looked just as he had last night: pale and dark, neatly turned out in a well-cut suit and a red trench coat. Under other circumstances, she might have found this man handsome, might have admired the commanding angles of his face and the carefree smile that played around his charming lips. But the circumstances weren't different, and everything about him seemed designed to intimidate her.

"In fact," he continued, either ignoring her panic or downright enjoying it, "you look a shade ill."

She knew she should just get up and leave, or reply to him at the very least, but she was paralyzed, reliving the unsettling details of her sick dream. In a flash, her mind was filled with the remembrance of how his arms had wrapped around her, the husky sound of his voice while he was on the verge of pleasure, and the bitter tang of blood on her tongue. She hadn't really thought of that last detail until now, but it seemed to haunt her—whose blood had it been, his or her own? Not that it mattered, as it had been a dream, but… even dreaming about drinking a vampire's blood seemed dangerous.

But the man before her was not a vampire. He couldn't be. With a jolt Seras realized that she was panicking over nothing. "I think I am getting a little sick," she admitted to the stranger, pushing her nightmares aside as best she could.

He tsked. "That does not bode well for your paper."

"At the rate I'm going, there won't _be_ a paper," she groaned, laying her head against the blessedly cool surface of the table. "I've lost all my materials."

"Certainly a set back," he agreed, his tone light.

His fingers came into her view then, creeping along the table until they could grip her chin. His touch was a shock, firm and cool, but blocked somewhat by the soft gloves he wore. As he gently lifted her head, Seras had the brief impression of mesmerizing red eyes and arched brows, but she blinked and his glasses were in place as they'd always been. Was it just her brain playing more vampire-related tricks on her? After all, Dracula's eyes had glowed a hellish red in parts of the book, hadn't they? She couldn't see the stranger's eyes, but she knew they were piercing into her, commanding her attention.

"Have you considered my proposal?" he asked gently, his fingers tracing the contours of her face.

He had never touched her before—after all, they'd only known one another for less than a day—but his caress felt familiar and not at all unpleasant. A soft shudder of pleasure hummed up her spine, her eyes nearly sliding closed in contentment. But she soon caught herself, becoming rigid within his grasp. "I haven't given it much thought," she answered his question, pulling away from him. What was wrong with her? She didn't know this man; she shouldn't let him get so near! And yet the desire was there, an agitating itch to wrap herself in the man before her. She certainly hadn't felt that the night before, and her dream should have cured any fascination she might have harbored for the stranger, but despite all logic she was drawn to him.

He steepled his fingers and gazed at her from behind his impenetrable glasses. "What do you have to lose?" his voice was soft, coaxing.

"I don't even known your name," she laughed nervously. "And even if I did trust you enough to continue meeting, I couldn't work on my paper anyway, since all my supplies have gone missing."

"Names are immaterial," he waved her initial objection away. "You can call me whatever you want."

"I think you've missed the point of inspiring trust in others," Seras replied. If left up to her, she would undoubtedly begin to call him Dracula. He shared many qualities with the immortal count: they were both persistent, charming and threatening and, at least in her dreams, they were both vampires. And, somehow, she got the feeling that he would enjoy being called that.

He smiled widely, as if reading her thoughts. "What could be more trustworthy than a man who's willing to let _you_ dictate who he is?" he returned.

She raised a brow mockingly, replying, "A man who's willing to be himself under any circumstance."

"Touché," his grin was nearly splitting his face now. "You see, _this_ is why we should work together."

"Because we argue?" she frowned in confusion.

He shook his head, the ebony silk of his hair dusting his shoulders. "Because we're insightful in different ways." His voice turned coaxing again. "Think of all the different little mysteries we could unravel together."

Something stirred within Seras, a thread of longing that she had never allowed herself to entertain in the past. She had always played her life as safely as she could, going out of her way to avoid new people and new situations—her greatest adventures had been found between the pages of a book. But despite her cautious personality, or maybe because of it, she could not deny that she loved mysteries and puzzles, loved to pick apart small challenges so that she had something to feel accomplished about. The man before her—Dracula, she thought with an inward smile—he was offering her that; all she had to do was take his hand, and he would lead her into a world she could scarcely fathom. Why deny herself, she thought. She always denied herself, and it didn't make any sense; what was the point in living if she was too scared to enjoy it? The thread of longing pulled tighter, pulled her closer to her stranger.

She took a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. "All right," she breathed, giving in. Panic would set in later, it always did when she made rash decisions, but for now she would enjoy the brief absence of her cowardice.

* * *

A/N: I would just like to say that it is very hard to write anything serious when you have Leslie Nielsen saying, "Renfield, you idiot," stuck in your head. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, I would highly recommend watching Mel Brooks' Dracula: Dead And Loving It—it parodies just about every Dracula movie I've ever seen.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: I own Rimkus, that is all.


	3. Anachronism

Chapter Three: Anachronism.

The man produced a pen and a pad of paper from inside his trench coat—would it be too much of a stretch of the imagination to call it a greatcoat?—and began to jot down notes in a bold and flowing script.

There was something anachronistic about her Dracula, now that Seras allowed herself to think about him. She had already decided that his face was ageless, but the full picture he presented seemed lost in time somehow. His trench coat really was more of a greatcoat—well trimmed with slight ruffles around the shoulders—and beneath it he wore what looked like a well-tailored, three piece suit; the collar of his white shirt peeked out, bound closed by an intricate and antiquated tie. And the sense stretched beyond his wardrobe; he bore himself with an elegance and composure that the world had not seen in ages. Even his writing seemed dated.

"Where shall we start?" he asked after jotting down some elegant and illegible notes.

Seras felt oddly invigorated in that moment; all day she had been battling both her mind and her body, but those concerns seemed strangely distant now. In the company of this man she hardly knew—her own, personal Dracula—she felt suddenly at peace. "The characters," she replied after a moment. "The paper is a character analysis, after all."

The man nodded, his ebony locks just brushing the tops of his shoulders. His elegant script bled from his pen as he spoke, "Dracula, Jonathan Harker, Lucy Westenra, Mina Murray, Doctor Seward, Arthur Holmwood, Quincey Morris, and Professor Van Helsing." Each name he listed came with a different intonation, a different verbal caress; some sounded deadly, others sounded almost fond. It was curious how clear his like or dislike of a character came across in their name alone. "Am I forgetting anyone?" her Dracula asked, looking up from the table.

The name came to her lips instantly. "Renfield," she supplied, oddly disappointed that he'd forgotten one of her favorite characters.

"Ah, yes," he grinned darkly, his grim amusement reflected even in his partially obscured eyes, "the lunatic."

"Renfield wasn't crazy," Seras stated firmly, a frown pulling at her lips. "If anything, you could say he was the only sane character in the entire novel."

Her Dracula's eyebrows raised a little and that patronizing smile he did so well curled at the corner of his lips. "Oh?"

She took a deep breath and sought to put her theory to words. It wasn't always easy to explain the dynamics of Renfield's character, and it was only made harder by the fact that she could never fully explain why she even liked him at all. Licking her lips, she plunged ahead. "Try to picture the story from his perspective: he's nothing but a solicitor in a foreign land, and while he's probably already lost and dealing with culture shock, he finds out that his client is a _vampire_. How does a normal person fight off a vampire?" Seras shook her head. "They don't—that sort behavior is for main characters alone. So Renfield was faced with a choice: he could either fight Dracula and die, or he could pretend to be what Dracula needed. The choice was clear, so Renfield _acted_ the part of a crazy henchman, nothing more. The man did what he had to in order to survive the situation: he played along."

Her stranger raised a brow, even as he jotted down more notes. "How do you know it was an act?"

"He was a very eloquent 'lunatic' for one," Seras smiled. "And for another, a fanatical follower who's given the prospect of immortality in exchange for loyalty would not have tried to warn Mina that she was in danger. That scene doesn't feel like a change of heart or a betrayal to me." She struggled to find the right words for her argument, wanting the stranger to understand how she saw things. "After all, why would Dracula kill his _only_ ally, even a disobedient one? Because he realized that Renfield had never been under his spell at all."

He didn't comment, his brow never lowered, but his hand never stopped moving either. "And how is it that the others are crazy?" he pursued after several moments.

"Dracula could have chosen his victims at will once he got to London, and yet he insisted upon hunting the only people who seemed equipped to fight him," she replied, "Lucy clearly invited the wanton wildness that ended up resulting in her death, and the others were all too easily convinced about the supernatural world they had been raised to believe didn't exist. I understand that each character was written to reflect a certain Victorian ideal or vice, but when you really look at them as people they all come off a little unbalanced."

Her companion nodded. "I can see how you would get that feeling, but did you ever consider that Dracula would not have worked as a villain if the protagonists had never come to believe in the supernatural?"

Seras found herself frowning at her companion once more. Impulsively, she reached out and snatched his pen away. "Dracula wasn't a villain," she told him firmly, "he just wasn't the good guy, either."

The man stilled, frozen in place as the words washed over him. Then, slowly, his brows furrowed and his jaw tightened, confusion radiating off him as he cocked his head slightly to the side. "How do you figure?" he asked, snatching his pen back.

The sudden seriousness of her stranger intrigued her—what was going through his mind to cause such a reaction? "Dracula was a vampire," she said plainly. "Drinking blood and killing people is simply the nature of the beast. I mean, we don't blame carnivorous animals for killing their prey, do we?" She shrugged once more, idly drumming her now empty fingers. "The only reason a vampire's actions are seen as evil is because they were once human and still retain those features, so it adds a shade of cannibalism to the equation, but still… you can't blame them for surviving the way instinct dictates they should," Seras insisted. "Dracula certainly didn't have to antagonize the other characters so much, and he definitely could have chosen other, more easily accessible victims, but nature prevented him from simply choosing not to drink blood altogether. I think it's too much of a stretch to call him a villain based solely on circumstances that were completely beyond his control."

Her own Dracula's fingers tightened around his pen, as though he were struggling with some internal battle, but he wrote nothing down, and when he spoke his voice came out smooth and level, if a bit dark. "And what he did to the Harkers, how do you explain that?"

She shifted slightly in her seat, trying to get comfortable now that she was genuinely interested in the conversation. "Like I said, he wasn't necessarily a good guy—I just don't think he was evil."

"Lucy's turning?" he fired at her quickly, his pen slipping uselessly to the table as he let it go.

She watched the pen roll in a careless arc across the table and raised a brow. What was the man across her thinking? What was the significance of all these little reactions? "He obviously had a preference for young, female blood," she licked her lips and studied her companion, trying to push stray thoughts of her dream away, "just like anyone would have favorite foods. I won't claim that what he did to Lucy was a nice thing, but again, I think it's all down to nature. Vampires have to reproduce somehow, don't they? Instinct, pure and simple."

He tapped sharply at the table between them, demanding, "What about the murder of your beloved Renfield?"

"Ah," she smiled faintly, "unfortunately that one I can't refute. Renfield's murder was an expression of all-too-human rage—but Dracula had been a warrior in life, and that sort of corporal punishment wouldn't have been uncommon. I can't say that the crime was deserving of such harsh punishment, but Dracula was from another age and those human echoes of his life could never fully be erased from his character."

The man blinked slowly and his fingers lifted to his temple as though he wanted to take his glasses off. "I think you're wrong," he mused carefully. "It's a wonderful argument, and perhaps not wholly untrue, but quintessentially wrong, nonetheless."

Seras shrugged. "Evil is a point of view, I suppose."

He nodded, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. "Yes, I believe I'm starting to remember that now."

Where before he had filled her with apprehension and fear, her Dracula now filled her with curiosity. Who was this man across from her—that was the real mystery she was trying to unravel as they spoke of good and evil. His every action was a mystery to her, his thoughts only hinted at by the tones he spoke in; she could no more guess his thoughts than she could his motivation, but she was intensely curious. Without even really trying the man had presented her with a riddle, a puzzle to put together, and she couldn't stop herself from getting trapped by the idea of his secrets. Whatever misgivings she'd had about the man where slowly vanishing in the wake of her curiosity. For better or worse, she wanted to know more.

They talked until the harsh noonday sun slipped from the sky, and by the time Seras knew it was dusk, her body came alive. Instead of being overwhelmed by the sharp clarity of her senses, she found herself strangely at ease with them, no longer feeling ill now that the cool touch of night was upon her. She couldn't really explain it, it was almost as if she were sensing everything much faster than before and so the fastest part of the day, noon, had been too much information for her to handle, but night was just her speed.

And with the passing illness came a desire she couldn't understand—a hunger that had nothing to do with food—but she knew it had everything to do with the man across from her. All the people in the café reminded her of chalk impressions—dull, flat, and sketchy around the edges—whereas her Dracula was like an oil painting come to life—full, rich with color and intricate details. He stood out from everyone else, more vibrant and commanding and, as though he were a lodestone, she couldn't help but be drawn to him. She itched for something she couldn't name, the echo of a taste on her tongue and the ghost of a touch sliding around her waist, but she knew he could give it to her. The wanting plagued her for several long and torturous minutes, growing more intense as the sun slipped further and further below the horizon, and when she finally thought it could get no worse, fate decided to prove her wrong.

"I'm afraid it's grown much later than I intended to stay," he said to her, tucking the pen and paper back into his coat. "Perhaps we can get together another time to finish this discussion?"

Seras felt suddenly panicked, like the room was closing in and there was no escape. She was trapped, rooted to the spot and unable to move as she watched him stand and stretch out his tall and powerful form. "Tomorrow?" she offered desperately, ignoring that she would have classes to attend.

His hand reached out slowly, caressing the side of her face with silky lightness as he studied her. And as his fingers stroked the curve of her cheek, he smiled, and there was just enough of a touch of cruelty to it that it almost gave her pause. "Perhaps," he agreed lightly, noncommittally. And then he left her; turned that powerfully body away and walked out of the building into the waiting night.

She felt the lack of his presence so keenly that it was nearly a physical pain—this sudden separation between them was like a knife in her side: twisting ever more viciously with every second that went by. And then, suddenly, it stopped, and like a lifting dream, her mind cleared.

Seras felt the tremors start in her hands and spread up her arms until, in a matter of moments, her whole body was shaking. _What had just happened?_

Like a spell clouding her judgment, continued exposure to the man had twisted her senses—fear had given way to complacency, complacency to desire, and desire to dependence. In a matter of hours he had become the center of her world, the answer to her every want, but now that he was gone she felt like herself again. Her senses were still of riot of unusual sharpness, but her fear and wariness had come back. How had she fallen so completely under the stranger's spell? It was sickening to think how utterly terrified she'd been of his leaving, how it had felt like her life could not exist in his absence. It was all so terribly frightening that she couldn't stand to be alone—she wanted nothing more than to curl between Pip and Harry so that they could shield her from the world for a little while.

But Pip and Harry were nowhere to be found. The apartment was just as empty upon her return as it had been when she'd left. Their rooms were empty and there was no sign that they'd ever been home at all. The silence and desolation that their absence cause pressed in on Seras, leaving her feeling isolated and a little helpless, like she had no one to turn to. She didn't want to go to sleep with that feeling pulling at her, eating away at her soul, but as the hours dragged by and still no Pip or Harry came to her rescue, it became apparent that she would have no choice. Even the stray dog from the night before would have been welcome company, but she saw neither hide nor hair of him, either.

She could only hope that sleep would grant her some reprieve.

_But even in her dreams, there was no comfort to be had._

_Her world was made of writhing shadows, dark shapes that slithered and danced with each other. And out of that inky mess stepped her stranger—tall and commanding, his eyes uncovered and his beautifully angular face framed by midnight locks that just barely brushed past his chin. His red greatcoat and suit jacket had been shucked, leaving him in a crisp white shirt, an expertly tailored charcoal vest, and matching pants that tucked into elegant, knee-high boots. For the first time, she could truly see the breadth of his shoulders, the tight trimness of his chest, the pure physical power that he held in check. It was intimidating; it was exhilarating._

_Fear and desire warred within Seras, her mind and her body in direct conflict with each other. Even in a dream, she knew nothing good could come of this horrifically compelling man, and yet a part of her wanted him beyond all reason. And so she stood, still as a statue, as he approached her._

"_I _am_ the villain, you know," he murmured, his voice deep and self-satisfied. "It wasn't mere antagonism or even obsession that made me pursue Lucy and then Mina—there was really no reason at all, except that I enjoy watching people suffer." Her Dracula drew even with her, toe to toe, and wrapped his impossibly strong arms around her. "Mind you, it was never the women I wanted to see suffer; they were sweet young morsels that would have made fine companions." His head tipped and ducked until his words were brushing against the side of her throat, making her shiver. "No, it was the men I wanted to torture: those infuriating, Victorian men who were so full of their own idealism that they couldn't even grasp the concept of their own masculinity. They were barely men at all, and so I wanted them to suffer for it. But I lost myself in that bully's game, and they trapped me for it in the end."_

_He paused, drawing her closer, and her body thrilled at his touch even as her mind rebelled against it. His lips caressed her neck once more and in that instant he bit into her, his teeth unerringly finding the marks he'd made in the last dream. A moan echoed deep in his chest as he drew from her, the moan of a man who had been denied the pleasure for much too long. And yet, even in his fervor, he went out of his way to please her—he pulled at her blood in a steady rhythm, his tongue sweeping at her sensitive wound as his lips teased her skin, and though all of that should have hurt her, it truthfully felt like heaven. Some strange part of Seras enjoyed their power play, the way he overwhelmed and dominated her yet touched her so softly, and the way she found her own shuddering pleasure in his strength-stealing embrace. _

_After a short eternity, he finally drew his lips scant centimeters off her skin._

"_Then I forgot," he rumbled, his words vibrating against her torn throat. "They poked and prodded me, tested and tortured, and I forgot everything: who I was and wanted to be, the things I loved and hated; I forgot the feel of a firm handshake and the pleasure of a soft woman; I even forgot camaraderie and animosity. But mostly, I forgot the intoxication of fresh, hot blood," his tone deepened, darkened, and his hold on her became undeniably possessive, "and the thrill of hunting for another mind that could handle the concept of eternity. They told me to be weary and obedient, they told me to be Alucard. And so I was, and probably would have been indefinitely if it hadn't been for you."_

"_Why me?" she breathed, feeling limp and hazy; her mind was starting to unfocus but she held onto his words with whatever strength she had left._

"_Your youth, perhaps… then again, perhaps not." He held her tighter, as though sensing that she was slipping away from him. "You remind me of what I'm supposed to be, of who I was—when you talk about Dracula, I remember everything they forced me to forget." His tongue caressed the length of her neck and he fondly purred, "You bring out the monster in me."_

_She shuddered, her fear creeping back. "That's not a good thing, is it?"_

_He laughed, deep and free. "Probably not—but if I survive what's to come, I'll have a chance to be myself again."_

"_What about me?" she wondered faintly._

_He pushed his bleeding wrist to her mouth. "I sincerely doubt you'll survive it."_

* * *

A/N: Some of you may have noticed that there are now only three chapters to this story, instead of five—after much consideration, I decided to delete the original two chapters, as chapter three was a revision. It was confusing some people and there was really no reason to keep the original draft up.

Please Review!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from the anime Hellsing or the novel Dracula, nor do I claim to make any money off this little work of fiction.


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